


Disintegration

by Bryonia_Alba



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Darkfic, F/M, Infidelity, Possession, unhappy ending for everyone involved
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-14
Updated: 2017-05-14
Packaged: 2018-10-31 21:12:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,192
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10907562
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bryonia_Alba/pseuds/Bryonia_Alba
Summary: Neville and his friends begin to realize Harry isn't quite himself after the war.





	Disintegration

**Author's Note:**

> Written for hp_darkfest, 2008.

_"No man is happy without a delusion of some kind. Delusions are as necessary to our happiness as realities."_ \-- Christian Nestell Bovee

Neville sees Voldemort die, sees him fall backward, arms outstretched and eyes blank. He also sees a shimmer of sickly green light around Harry at the same moment, but it’s gone when he blinks; and he attributes it to the other flashes of light superimposed on his retinas the moment Voldemort and Harry’s final spells collided in midair. What matters now is that Harry has won, the threat of his generation is gone, and they’re free. 

It’s over, he thinks, running toward Harry along with Ron and Hermione and Luna and Ginny. It’s finally over.

Harry appears more than a little overwhelmed, as weary as the rest of them, his eyes lacking their usual spark. Neville can’t really blame him. Coming back from the dead would take a lot out of anybody. 

“Good show, Harry, good show,” he says, clapping him on the shoulder, and Harry winces. Their eyes meet for a moment, and Neville is startled at the momentary coldness there. He blinks and it’s gone, and he gives himself a mental shake. He’s as exhausted as everyone else, and there’s much yet to be done. He stands back, letting the others have their turn to touch, and congratulate, and thank the boy who conquered the Dark Lord, and turns away, where he finds himself surrounded by his own surprising crowd of admirers.

Telling and retelling the tale of how he killed the giant snake, reliving the fear of almost certain death and the very real terror of having almost been burnt alive quickly becomes old, but the Sword of Gryffindor is a magnet that draws people toward him, and Neville finds himself talking to people who previously had never given him the time of day, much less shown any desire to converse. There are _girls_ , giggling and blushing and making eyes at him, some of whom are doing more than making eyes such as Romilda Vane, who is making it very clear she’d like to reward him for his ‘heroism’ in rather personal fashion.

“Let him breathe, he’s already told you how he killed the snake a half dozen times,” a sharp yet welcome voice finally says, sending the admirers scattering like dusty crows in their flapping black robes. He looks up at Ginny and smiles his gratitude as she sinks down onto the bench next to him, resting her head on his shoulder. She looks pale and wan, fingers picking listlessly at a splinter on the table, and Neville remembers her brother is dead, yet she’s still found time to rescue him, to give him a bit of space to breathe.

“Thanks,” he says softly, grabbing a sandwich from his plate. “I figured you’d be with Harry. Or that Harry would be with you.”

“He’s with Ron and Hermione,” she says. “I saw them leave.”

Leaving seems a grand idea, the best he’s heard all day. Ginny might appreciate a moment of quiet, as well. “I need to take this back to the headmaster’s office,” he says after a moment, nodding toward the Sword lying next to his plate. “Want to come with me?” She nods her assent and they leave the cacophony of the Great Hall with tired, halting steps.

The gargoyle doesn’t ask for a password; apparently the Sword makes one unnecessary. Neville and Ginny ascend the circular stairs and he lays the weapon atop Snape’s desk. He figures Professor McGonagall will be along soon, and the portraits along the wall will guard it well enough. Keeping it for himself never crosses his mind, although he’s sure others will say he deserves it. The Sword was loaned to him, to his way of thinking; he has no right to keep it.

When he turns around Ginny is crying silently, her shoulders shaking with the force of her grief, and he does his best to offer what little comfort his can until she regains control and he returns her to the solace of her family, his shoulder dampened by her tears. Ron and Hermione rejoin them soon afterward, Ron’s eyes as red-rimmed as his sister’s.

No one knows where Harry has gone, and Neville is too tired to look.

~*~

The week after the war’s end is a macabre blur of funerals and victory parties. Neville is awarded an Order of Merlin, Second Class for his work with the D.A. and for killing the snake. Ginny and Luna also receive medals as co-leaders of the resistance. Harry, Ron, and Hermione receive Orders of Merlin also, First Class as is fitting.

Afterward, Neville sips champagne, chats with Ron and Hermione, and is eventually persuaded to come out onto the ballroom floor to dance with Ginny. Her brown eyes remain sad in the days since Fred’s recent burial, but her smile is genuine as she guides him through the first steps of the dance.

“You’ve improved,” she notes, her fingers light on his shoulder, her hand warm in his. “I don’t know why you’ve been so reluctant to dance all evening.”

“It must have been all the sneaking through the school corridors at night this past year,” Neville replies, taking her into a turn. He hasn’t stepped on her toes yet and, Godric willing, he’ll continue not to until the tune is over. “Perhaps that’s where my newfound grace came from.”

“Possibly. Perhaps you’ve simply grown up like the rest of us. Merlin knows I went through my own awkward stage. You stopped tripping over your feet long before last year, you know. I’m only pointing out the obvious.”

Neville opens his mouth to reply, and is interrupted by a sharp tap on his shoulder. He looks away from Ginny to find Harry standing there, green eyes assessing.

“May I cut in?” he asks. Neville sees the way Ginny’s face lights up, and disengages his hand from hers, transferring it to Harry’s.

“Of course,” he answers. “She’s your girlfriend, after all. I was only getting her warmed up for you.”

Ginny laughs, hand already settling onto Harry’s shoulder. “Nonsense,” she retorts as Harry spins her away from him. “I was the one who had to beg! Now that everyone’s seen how much better you are they’ll all want a turn.”

She’s right, he sees as he steps off the dance floor. There are several girls watching him, giggling flirtatiously when his eyes search their faces. Neville snags another glass of champagne and looks to see if he can find Luna. She’s the only other girl he knows besides Ginny who only sees him as Neville the person, not Neville the Snakeslayer. It’s an appellation of which he’s already too weary.

Luna is chatting with her father, dressed in bright yellow dress robes, easy to find. Neville starts toward her, more eager for strange talk of Snorkacks and Wrackspurts than for another opportunity to mash some poor girl’s unwitting toes.

~*~

Harry doesn’t return to Hogwarts the following autumn to retake the year as do most of the other students who lived their last year under the Carrows. If anyone finds it odd he’s been invited to join the Aurors without completing his schooling or going through training they don’t say anything. The world has been Harry’s oyster since defeating Voldemort; and it’s been no secret that he wanted to follow in his mother and father’s footsteps.

His former yearmates still get to see him every Hogsmeade weekend. They meet at the Three Broomsticks, eagerly devouring the tales Harry regales them with between pints of butterbeer. The fingers of his other hand stay firmly wound around Ginny’s the entire time, and Neville wonders if he holds on so tightly because he’s afraid she might not stay if he lets go. He has nothing to worry about on that score. Ginny, he knows, treasures every owl received from him and looks forward to every Hogsmeade weekend. The engagement ring she accepted over the Christmas holiday never leaves her finger, sparkling on her hand. 

“So when’s the wedding?” Neville asks, following a mouthful of butterbeer. There are only so many ways to tell a story of Death Eater captures and interrogations before they all begin to sound alike, and Neville’s had his fill. “Ginny can only show off the ring so many times, but she won’t tell us a date. 

Harry’s smile takes on a stiff, wooden quality as Neville speaks. Ginny glances at him and starts to reply. “I thought perhaps…”

“This summer,” Harry says, overriding her. “Once she turns eighteen.”

“That’s not much time,” Hermione says, frowning over her own pint.

“It’ll be a small wedding,” Harry says easily. Ginny is quiet, looking down at her lap and biting her lip. “Close family and friends only. I don’t want the extravaganza Bill and Fleur went through. Too much work, too much stress, too much attention from the likes of _The Daily Prophet_ and _Witch Weekly_. It’s best to keep it under wraps as long as possible. Speaking of which, did I mention we found Travers huddled beneath a dropcloth in a storage room at Borgin and Burkes? It was the funniest thing…”

“Do you like it there?” Luna interrupts mildly, her head resting on Neville’s shoulder, her fingers entwined loosely with his. “Are you happy, chasing renegade Dark witches and wizards? There can’t be all that many left after last year.”

“There are more of them out there than you think,” Harry replies with a knowing chuckle. “I do like it there at the Ministry, more than I thought I would. Everything I’ve always wanted is within my grasp.”

Lifting his hand, he kisses Ginny’s knuckles and smiles.

~*~

Harry and Ginny’s wedding the weekend after her eighteenth birthday becomes the first in a string of similar celebrations within the Weasley clan. Harry and Ginny’s nuptials are soon followed by Percy and Angelina’s, George and Katie’s and finally Ron and Hermione’s. Neville is also invited to the marriages of several former members of the D.A. Terry and Parvati are the first of their year to become parents.

Neville and Luna end their relationship soon after, amicably. He’s busy with his apprenticeship to Professor Sprout, and she received an offer to confirm and document the possible existence of new magical beasts in different locales. Neville hears from her often, her excitement nearly palpable in the weekly owls she sends to him.

Harry’s star continues to rise at the Ministry with each new Death Eater capture. Neville is a frequent guest at the Potter household, attending dinner parties or the occasional afternoon tea alone with Ginny. It’s at these teas that she most closely resembles the girl he knew in school, bright and laughing instead of the subdued decorum she shows in public at Harry’s side.

“He talks in his sleep sometimes,” she confides one day, adding a dollop of milk and a spoonful of honey to Neville’s tea, just as he likes it. He’s told her several times he can doctor it himself, yet she persists in doing it for him, and eventually he’s stopped protesting. “He says the oddest things. I never know if Harry is dreaming about the past or remembering something that happened at work. I’ve asked but he says he doesn’t recall.”

“What kind of things?” Neville asks, accepting the cup and saucer she hands him along with a piece of Ginny’s famous gingerbread.

Ginny frowns in thought, sipping from her own teacup. “Well, he doesn’t usually repeat the same things night after night, though there’s one that comes up more often than others. _Neither can live while the other survives_. Does that make any sense to you?”

Neville shakes his head and bites into his gingerbread. “Harry never talked to me like he did with Ron or Hermione,” he answers once he’s chewed and swallowed. “If it means anything, they’re more likely to recognise the phrase.”

“You’re probably right.” Ginny takes a cucumber and cream cheese sandwich from the tea tray. “It’s probably nothing. Tell me, have you begun seeing anyone yet? It’s been ages since you and Luna broke things off.”

“Not yet.” Neville shrugs. “I haven’t found that special someone. We can’t all be like you, meeting your prince when you’re ten. And no, I don’t want you playing matchmaker, so you can wipe that innocent look from your face right now. I know you better than that.”

“Pity,” Ginny says, and smiles.

~*~

Five years to the day after Voldemort’s downfall, Chief Auror Gawain Robards and his entire family are found murdered, shocking the Wizarding World. No one is surprised when Harry is chosen to replace him. He has the reputation of catching more Dark witches and wizards than anyone, outstripping even the legendary Alastor Moody. His reformation of the Wizarding prison of Azkaban has proven a success, giving the prisoners better clothing against the frigid weather and ensuring proper food and blankets for their cells. The inhabitants are quiet. Hermione, ever suspicious, says they’re only biding their time, but no one can say for what.

 _Powerful, yet merciful_ , Rita Skeeter writes in her unauthorised biography. _It’s only a matter of time before he becomes Minister for Magic once Kingsley Shacklebolt decides to step down. Who knows what further greatness lies ahead for the Chosen One?_

Capturing the ones responsible for the deaths of Robards and his family proves difficult, however. Harry is convinced the long-wanted Lestrange brothers, Rodolphus and Rabastan, are the culprits, but they’ve evaded every attempt to capture them, every trap, every snare.

“I must have them,” Harry mutters to Neville during one of the now-monthly dinner parties at the Potter residence. “I must. They’re the last of the inner circle. Once they’re in my hands, I can start to make real progress. I have plans, Nev, big plans.”

“So you do want to become Minister someday,” Neville says, lifting his wineglass and swallowing a mouthful, and Harry laughs.

“Maybe, maybe not,” he replies, his gaze turning toward Ginny. “I’m thinking it’s time to start a family, have a son to continue the family name. Do you think any of our children will have red hair, or will my messy mop be the hair colour to finally end the trend?”

“Hard to say,” Neville says. “You and Ginny are finally talking about children, then?”

“Talk? What is there to talk about? Neither of us are getting any younger.” Harry arches a brow, and Neville tries to recall whether or not Harry’s ever done such a thing until now. It’s such an un-Harry-like gesture. “It’s time. She’ll come around.”

Neville makes a noncommittal noise in his throat and drinks more wine.

“You want her, don’t you?”

The question is sudden, unexpected, and Neville chokes, spluttering. “Beg pardon?”

“My wife. You want her, don’t you? Everyone does. Did you fuck her while the two of you were in the D.A. together? Did you want to?” Harry is no longer smiling, and Neville realises he’s serious.

“Ginny and I are friends,” he answers coolly. “If you’re looking for threats, you won’t find any here.”

“See that it stays that way,” Harry responds. Ginny is looking at them both, her expression worried, and Harry raises his wineglass to her in a silent toast.

Neville stops receiving dinner invitations after that evening, although Ginny still has him round for tea at least every other week. She doesn’t question the abrupt rift in his friendship with Harry.

~*~

Ginny suffers a miscarriage the following winter. Harry isn’t there when it happens. He’s finally found the Lestranges’ trail, and he means to see it through to the end. Luna takes a Portkey from Peru to be with her during her time of grief. Neville visits when he can, whenever Harry isn’t at home; and the three reminisce about their school years and the way things used to be, both before and during the war. Harry is rarely mentioned in these conversations, to avoid upsetting or worrying Ginny while she recovers.

Neville wonders when she became so fragile. She hasn’t been this pale since she was an ickle firstie, so many years before.

The Lestrange brothers are captured, of course they’re captured, how could it happen any other way with Harry leading the pack of Aurors in running the fugitives to ground? Harry comes home beaming.

He’s saddened by the miscarriage, but not to the same extent as Ginny; and he vows to try again as soon as she’s fully recovered physically.

It’s a surprise then, when Neville receives an owl from Ginny a few weeks later:

_Neville,_

_Meet me for tea at the Burrow. I’ve left Harry._

_Ginny_

“He’s not the same person I fell in love with,” Ginny says tearfully that afternoon, turning her teacup around and around between thin fingers without drinking. “He’s not the same person I married. He’s harder, colder. He’s become so focused on furthering his career at the Ministry he doesn’t have time for me, except for the occasions when I can appear at his side at official functions where I get to smile and look pretty like a good little trophy wife should. He has all the time in the world for his _plans_ , but he barely ekes out time for _me_ , unless he decides to make another go of trying to sire a son off of me. I didn’t marry him to be his brood mare, Nev.”

Neville merely looks at her, unsure of what to say. “What do Ron and Hermione say?” he asks finally. They’re the two Harry has always been closest to, the one he’s always confided his secrets and thoughts. “Ron can’t be very happy if Harry’s made you unhappy.” He pauses, recalling Ron’s propensity for jumping to conclusions. “He sees Harry every day in the Auror Division, doesn’t he?”

“Harry barely speaks to them any more.” Ginny stirs more honey into her tea and sips, grimacing because now she’s made it too sweet. Setting the cup aside, she explains, “Ron did talk to Harry about it. Not only did Harry say there wasn’t a problem, he told Ron that if he kept nagging him about it he’d demote him to desk duty.”

“I’m sorry,” Neville says, helplessly. “Harry doesn’t talk to me any more either unless he can’t avoid it. I don’t know why he’s pushing everyone away.”

“I’m tired, Neville,” Ginny says sadly, shaking her head. “Remember when I said he talks in his sleep? It’s grown worse over the years. I barely got any sleep at all, having to listen to him rant and rave. I can’t remember the last time I felt fully rested.”

“Talk to Ron or Hermione again. Maybe they’ll have some insight you’ve missed.” It’s the only advice Neville can think to give.

~*~

Harry confronts Neville the next day, storming into the greenhouse where Neville works and slamming him against the wall hard enough to crack the thick glass.

“The bed isn’t even cold yet and you’re already fucking her in my place?” he snarls, fists knotted in the front of Neville’s robes. “You couldn’t wait one fucking day to stake your claim? I knew you wanted her, always did. I knew it. I saw the way you looked at her, so caring, so solicitous; and I knew. Are you happy now, now that you’ve had your chance to rut between her thighs? Did she just lie there for you like a cold fish? Did she lie there and take it, or did she fake the occasional moan for you? Did she? _Did she_?”

Neville shoves him back, hard, breaking Harry’s hold, making him stumble. He straightens with lightning speed, and Neville finds himself looking at the end of Harry’s wand.

He raises his hands slowly, carefully. “She’s always loved you, Harry,” he says, striving to keep his tone soft, non-threatening despite the rare anger stirred to life within him. “I’m her friend. I’ve only ever been there to listen, and that’s all. I’ve never touched her inappropriately.” His voice turns to acid. “If you trust her so little though, I’m not surprised she walked out on you. She deserves better.”

A muscle twitches in Harry’s cheek, and for a long, dreadful moment Neville is positive he’s about to receive a hexing he won’t soon forget. His head rocks back seconds later and Neville falls, hand going to his face, jaw working to ensure nothing is broken. Harry stands over him, his wand still clenched in one fist, the other fist empty.

“Stay away from her.” Harry’s voice is cold, high with anger. “Ginny is mine, she’s always been mine, and she will be mine until the end. I won’t warn you again.”

Harry leaves as quickly as he entered, leaving Neville still on the floor, staring after him in disbelief.

“What the hell happened to you?” he whispers, dragging back onto his feet, stiff and aching.

He doesn’t stay way from Ginny. He’s never been one to abandon his friends.

~*~

Neville receives a visit from Ron several weeks later. The Auror is more sombre than Neville has ever seen him as he invites him into the house and rings the house elf for tea.

“Hermione’s not with you?” Neville asks, showing Ron into the parlour and taking a seat. “Or is this official Auror business?”

“No, this isn’t Auror business.” Ron runs a hand through his riotous red hair. “I’m here as a friend. Harry’s got it in for you, mate. Seems to think you’ve turned Ginny against him and that’s why she won’t come home to him. He’s livid.”

“Are you saying I ought to stay away from her, too?” Neville thanks the house elf once she’s set down the tea service and sends her on her way. “Harry told me that already. I can’t help it if Ginny wants to talk to me. She’s happier than she’s been since she left him. Healthier, somehow. She’s got roses in her cheeks again.”

“You noticed that, too?” Ron’s glance is sharp, chin lifting. Ignoring the tea and cakes, he leans forward, blue eyes urgent. “Neville, has she said anything to you about Harry’s behaviour? Anything out of the ordinary?”

Neville thinks back to all the teas, all the talks he’s shared with Ginny since she married Harry, frowning. “Nothing, really,” he says at last. “Only that he had a tendency to talk in his sleep, and that it got worse the longer it went on. She said she was tired all the time and that she didn’t want to be his trophy wife.”

“Harry talks in his sleep? He never did before.”

“Not when we were students, anyway.” Neville lifts a shoulder and selects a petit four topped with a candied violet from the plate. “She did tell me one of the things he’d said, because she found it so strange. _Neither can live while the other survives_. It makes you wonder what he dreams about, doesn’t it?” He looks up from the tiny cake to Ron, startled to see he’s gone terribly pale, freckles standing out in sharp relief. “Ron?”

“He said that?” Ron’s nostrils flare. “He actually said that?”

“In his sleep. He told me later that Ginny was his and always had been. It means something, doesn’t it? That phrase?”

Ron reaches for a piece of shortbread, stuffing it into his mouth. Neville waits patiently for him to chew and swallow, chasing it with a swig of tea, giving him time to marshal his thoughts.

“Harry…Hermione thinks he’s no longer right in the head. That phrase was part of the prophecy we found in the Department of Mysteries back in our fifth year. It originally was supposed to mean either Harry or You Know Who had to die; but somewhere along the way it’s somehow got all twisted in Harry’s head. He thinks you’re a threat, for some reason that only makes sense to him.”

Neville stares at Ron, shaken. “You’re joking. You make it sound as though Harry wants me dead.”

“I don’t know if he wants you dead,” Ron says slowly. “I will tell you this, though. Stay away from Harry. Don’t give him a reason to feel more threatened than he already is. If that means avoiding Ginny for awhile, so be it. I can…I can ferry messages to you from her and vice versa, if you like. No one needs to know.”

Neville sets the petit four aside. “I think I’ll leave that decision to Ginny. Be careful, Ron.”

Ron flashes a grin that doesn’t reach his eyes as he gets to his feet. “I’m married to Hermione, remember? She won’t let me be anything but careful. Take care of yourself, mate. Hermione will figure something out. She always does.” Running his fingers through his hair again, he mutters, “This was all supposed to be _over_.”

“What was? What’s supposed to be over?”

Ron hesitates a moment, and shakes his head. “Better you don’t know. I’ll see myself out.”

~*~

_Neville,_

_When are you going to visit again? I miss our talks. I miss you. _

_Ginny_

Neville looks at the owl in his hand, reading and rereading it long after the words have imprinted on his memory. He also misses their talks, but the longing is weighted by fear of bearing the brunt of another one of Harry’s irrational rages. He doesn’t want to test Ron’s theory that his old friend may very well be out for his blood. He wouldn’t be at all surprised if Harry watched the Burrow, keeping count of Ginny’s visitors.

Quickly, Neville pens a reply.

_Ginny,_

_We can’t meet at your parents’ house. Do you think Ron and Hermione will allow us to meet at their place?_

_I miss you, too._

_Neville_

He’s careful to use a regular post owl to send the missive, rather than use his own owl. For all he knows, Harry is watching him, too. Ron isn’t the only Auror he’s seen lurking around his home lately.

Neville receives a reply from Ron the same day.

_Neville,_

_Have I told you lately you and my sister are both mental? If I haven’t, consider this my first time. You and Ginny are mental._

_Come by tomorrow at eleven. Hermione and I have decided there are things you should both know._

_Ron_

~*~

The following day is blustery and full of rain, and Neville has never been so glad for an excuse to pull the hood of his cloak close to his face as he hurries up the walk to Ron and Hermione’s front door, shoulders hunched against the wet. Ron opens the door before Neville has a chance to knock and pulls him inside.

“Thank Merlin for the weather,” he says, pointing out a row of pegs beside the door so Neville can hang up his damp cloak. “Ginny’s supposed to arrive by Floo in a bit. If Harry has someone watching Mum and Dad’s house they won’t notice anything amiss. Come on in, Hermione’s got the kettle on for tea.”

A swooshing noise from the lounge signals Ginny’s arrival, and Ron and Neville go to greet her. Neville has the uncharitable thought that she’s never looked better, now that she’s left Harry. She brushes the soot from her robes, trading insults with Ron the entire time, before catching sight of Neville. 

“You came!” she exclaims, folding him into a fierce hug. “I’m so glad.”

“I had to come,” Neville replies honestly. “No one makes tea like you do.”

Hermione emerges from the kitchen a few minutes later. “Tea’s done,” she announces. “There are makings for sandwiches as well, if anyone’s hungry.” 

The four sit around the kitchen table once the tea’s been poured and the sandwiches are built, Neville and Ginny looking expectantly at their hosts.

“You think you might know why Harry’s acting the way he is?” Neville prompts.

Hermione looks away, blinking back tears. Ron takes her hand in his and squeezes before turning toward Neville.

“You’ve got to understand, this has been hard on us, too,” he says. “We’ve known him better than just about anyone, and we didn’t see this coming either. You remember the prophecy from fifth year, yeah? It basically said that a boy born at the end of July would have the power to defeat You Know Who.” Meeting Neville’s eyes, he said, “Harry was one option. I think you know now who the other was. You Know Who decided Harry was the greater threat, and tried to kill him. Everyone knows how that went.”

Neville’s jaw tightens, eyes widening. It had almost been him. It could have been him in Harry’s place, and he’s never been more glad in his life to be Neville Longbottom rather than Harry Potter. Ginny touches his hand, her fingers gentle as they curl around his. 

“We…we found out You Know Who planned to live forever, and how he planned to do it. He’d kill people, break off a piece of his soul, and put it into an object for safekeeping. That’s where we went that year we weren’t at school. We were looking for these objects, these Horcruxes, and destroying them. Once we destroyed the Horcruxes, You Know Who could be killed. Except…except…”

“Except Harry turned out to be one of them.” Hermione takes up the tale as Ron falters. “An object containing a Horcrux has to be destroyed beyond magical repair. Harry died, but he didn’t stay dead. When he came back, I think the bit of soul inside him came back as well, and when he killed Voldemort, what was left of his soul joined with the bit inside Harry. And he’s been establishing a greater hold ever since.”

Ginny shakes her head, unbelieving. “You’re telling us Harry is Voldemort. That’s impossible. We saw him die. We all saw him die and stay dead. It can’t be, it just can’t!”

“I know, it’s hard for me to believe, too.” Ron takes a bite from his sandwich. He’s the only one demonstrating an appetite; everyone else’s plates remain untouched. “Hermione says Harry told her once that You Know Who took blood from Harry when he got his body back, the year of the Tri-Wizard Tournament, and that it created a tether of sorts between them. When Harry killed Voldemort, instead of breaking the bond he only followed it into Harry and the bit of soul there. And he’s been there ever since, getting stronger.” 

Neville pokes at his uneaten sandwich, picking up a crisp instead and biting into it. “It doesn’t explain why he’s turned Harry against me.”

“Or why I was so sick just before I left him,” Ginny adds.

Hermione Summons a tissue and blows her nose. “Neville is the boy who was almost the Boy Who Lived. Now that Voldemort’s inside Harry, he’s been playing on his attachment to Ginny, making him jealous, hoping to nudge him into a murderous rage and remove the competition. _Neither can live while the other survives_ , remember? You’ve taken Harry’s role in the prophecy.”

“Then why hasn’t he killed me already?” Neville snaps. “He’s had loads of chances.”

“Because it’s not just Voldemort in there,” Ginny says sadly. “It’s Harry, too. The one who was your friend.”

“The diary you had in first year was one of the Horcruxes,” Ron continues, gaze turning toward Ginny. “You poured your soul into it, making it stronger. When you married Harry, you poured your heart and soul into him instead. That’s why they want you back, Gin. Harry loves _you_ , but You Know Who needs your energy to keep making him stronger. He’s using you through Harry.”

Neville looks between Ron and Hermione in mounting horror. “You’re basically saying that in order to get rid of Voldemort one of us has to kill Harry and make sure he stays dead this time.” 

“Basically, yes.” Ron’s voice cracks with grief. Hermione bursts into tears, as does Ginny.

Neville feels numb, the enormity of Hermione’s words washing over him in waves. Ron’s statement from earlier, when he said it was supposed to be over, now makes a terrible kind of sense.

He eats another crisp, drinks tea while the women bring their emotions back under control and dry their tears before asking the next question.

“Now that we know, what are we going to do about it?”

~*~

“Mum and Dad are having tea with Great-Aunt Muriel,” Ginny says once the Floo spits them out at Neville's house, dusting off her clothing before helping Neville do the same."They won't be home for hours yet. She's fond of her stories, and Mum loves hearing them. I'll be back long before they return, and besides, I'm twenty-two now. I can come and go as I please."

"It's not that," Neville protests, stripping off his outer robe, leaving him in trousers and shirtsleeves. "Are you sure this is the only way?"

Ginny presses her fingers to his lips, shushing him. "It's not how I would have wanted it, either," she says, fingers leaving his lips to cup his cheek. "I haven't time for regrets, and neither do you. If I'm going to regret anything, it's that I made the wrong choice when I was seventeen. I was blind, and now I see." 

Her hand slides into Neville's hair, bringing his mouth down to hers, and Neville lets go of regret as he kisses her.

Their lovemaking is slow, sweet, and very, very visible from the open window. Ginny's legs are tight around Neville's waist as he thrusts up into her, her head falling back, her mouth open, her cries of pleasure unfeigned when he stiffens and comes. Afterward, they fall onto the bed, Neville's hands still touching Ginny gently, reverently, and they wait.

They don't wait long. Neville tenses upon hearing the amplified snick of the front door, followed soon after by the creak of the stair. The bedroom door bursts open moments later, and a jet of green light strikes the empty bed.

Harry spins, eyes wild, his face contorted with rage, falling still when he finds Neville standing behind the door in nothing but his boxers, his wand drawn and pointed at his chest.

"Fucking bastard," Harry spits, his own wand poised. "Where is she? I saw you with her, you can't deny anything now. She's _mine_."

Neville's wand never wavers. "She was never yours, Tom," he says softly, and Harry blinks. "She was Harry's, and if he lost her he has no one but you to blame, and now you've lost everything."

His breath clogs in his throat as Harry's eyes momentarily flash cold scarlet before changing back to bright emerald green. "I was content to leave you alive in your ignorance," he says. "So long as you knew nothing, you couldn't be a threat. You could have had a place with me. Pureblooded, well-respected...you would have risen high."

"I'm happy as an herbologist, thanks," Neville says, his tone deliberately dry despite the terror surging through him. It's all he can do not to look away toward the loo, where Ginny hides and watches. "Somehow, I can't imagine a glorified gardener having much of a place in the new world order."

Harry's mouth twists in disgust. "Only a worm would be content to spend its life digging in the dirt."

"This worm has a clear conscience. I can't ask for more." Neville forces himself to meet Harry's eyes. "I'm sorry it had to come to this. I hear Tom's incapable of remorse, Harry; but I know you are. Maybe you have enough for both of you. Try, Harry. You loved Ginny. Find some regret for the pain you've caused her. Come on, Harry, I know you can do it."

The wand in Harry's hand trembles ever so slightly, and then he throws his head back and screams, toppling backward onto the floor, thrashing and writhing. His screams fill the air, body contorting in an agony surely as great as the Cruciatus Curse, with no hope of lifting it until it's run its course. Neville winces as Harry's body twists hard enough for him to hear the pop of one shoulder pulling free of its socket. He barely feels Ginny's arm slide around his waist, her head resting on his shoulder as they both watch, tears streaming unheeded down their cheeks.

He screams until his voice is gone and still it continues, ragged exhalations of breath, limbs twisting and contorting, muscles writhing beneath Harry's skin. His back bows until only his head and heels touch the floor, and every window in the house explodes outward in glittering shards. Harry collapses like a puppet whose strings have been cut, eyes blank and staring.

Ginny begins sobbing uncontrollably, kneeling beside him, one shaking hand brushing back the fringe on Harry's forehead, and they both watch as the scar that's defined Harry his entire life fades and vanishes. Neville kneels as well, feeling for a heartbeat, a breath, anything.

There's nothing. Voldemort is dead, and so is Harry.

It's over, he thinks, arms going around Ginny as she keens her grief. It’s finally over.


End file.
